Thicker than Blood
by Louise Hargadon
Summary: An unexpected visitor from Aramis' past crashes into The Musketeers' world and quickly becomes embroiled in a deadly mission to protect the Queen. Aramis/Anne, Athos/OC. Rated T for violence.
1. Prologue

_**A/N:** I was torn between making a start on four stories and this was the one that won out in the end. I really hope you like it, I think there'll probably only be seven or eight chapters, it's only going to run the sort of length of a normal episode. I get a bit overwhelmed doing huge multi-chapters and can't be relied upon to finish them promptly._

_Also, I do refer to Aramis by his real name occasionally in this. According to canon, it is René. I'm not making it up!_

_**Disclaimer: The Three Musketeers** were created by **Alexandre Dumas** and the BBC adaptation is the brainchild of **Adrian Hodges**. I only own my OCs. The title was basically a bit of a cop-out because I couldn't think of anything else and needed to save the document as something..._

**Thicker than Blood**

**Prologue**

Aramis had been running for too long.

His hat had fallen off not long after he had taken to his heels in pursuit of the thief. It had fallen into a muddy puddle and was probably lost forever, but he didn't care. He just kept on running. The lactic acid had started burning in his thighs which meant that he could hardly feel his legs, yet he ground his teeth and let out a growl of determination as he continued in his pursuit despite the pain.

Normally, he would have let a person who stole a loaf of bread go without hindrance. After all, everybody needed to eat, and just because they didn't have the requisite financial means to buy bread didn't mean that they weren't still human beings who needed sustenance. God cared for the small as well as the great. Normally he would have passed a conspiratorial glance and wink with the thief, to reassure them that it was all right, and when he could afford it, would slip the money for the bread to the baker so that, technically, nothing had actually been stolen. He had known hunger and he had known the depths of despair it could drive a man to.

However, this time was different. This time, the thief had taken a loaf of bread and, without even turning around properly, had somehow managed to remove the pendant from around the neck of the young lady Aramis was walking with. He had only met her that morning, but she was very charming and they had soon decided to cancel all their other engagements in order to spend the day together. After her necklace was stolen, and tipping his hat to her with a vow that he would apprehend the ruffian, he ran like the wind in pursuit of the offender. The chase had led him through the marketplace, past the tavern, through some areas of Paris that even made Aramis himself feel unsafe, for what seemed like an eternity but had been no longer than five minutes. Whether it was the fact that he hoped his partner would be exceptionally forthcoming with gratitude if he caught the thief, or just the sheer indignation that someone had the audacity to rob a lady while she was in his company and therefore under his protection, Aramis didn't know. All he knew was that the thief was getting away and he probably needed a third lung before he could run any further. He ran past the garrison, and out of his peripheral vision he saw his friends walking out of the gates.

"Where are you going?" a voice called behind him as Aramis' laboured steps started to falter. He didn't even have the energy to stop and speak to Porthos.

"Thief!" he gasped. "Black hood."

"Catch your breath, we'll stop him," Porthos said, clapping him briefly on the shoulder as he took off after the thief, Athos close behind him. With the force of Porthos' hand on his shoulder, Aramis stumbled and then collapsed in a heap on the ground, breathing heavily, his mouth and throat dry. He tried to swallow but it hurt his throat too much, and a coughing fit ensued.

"You're getting old," d'Artagnan said, crouching beside Aramis and handing him a cup of water. Aramis gulped the cold liquid down gratefully and lay back on the ground, closing his eyes as he felt every muscle in his body throbbing with exertion as it forced itself to repair and recover in less time than it really needed.

"Not old," Aramis said, letting out a breath of laughter as he opened his eyes again. "I'm getting more experienced!" With another grunt of exertion, he pulled himself to his feet and continued running after Porthos and Athos. d'Artagnan could do little else but follow his friend, if only to find out what all the fuss was about.

By the time Aramis and d'Artagnan had caught up with Porthos and Athos, they had just cornered the thief in an alleyway. The thief looked around frantically, the face still completely hidden by the hood of the cloak, and a scarf over the nose and mouth.

"I never thought you'd catch him," Aramis said, panting heavily.

"We very nearly didn't. Luckily for us he took a wrong turning," Athos said, his voice unmistakably disinterested. "Since when have we been in the business of apprehending thieves?"

"Since the thief stole a pendant from a lady," Aramis replied, before turning his attention to the dark figure in the corner, who was still desperately trying to find a way out of the inescapable position. He took two steps toward the thief. "Monsieur, please, just return the pendant. Nobody here would begrudge a man a simple meal," he said, his voice kind as he held his hand out to take the pendant. Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan all exchanged doubtful glances and mentally readied themselves to defend Aramis should the need arise.

To their surprise, the thief dug into the folds of their oversized black cloak, retrieved the pendant and held it out to Aramis. He raised his eyebrows for a moment in bewilderment before taking hold of the pendant from the thief's outstretched left hand. As he did, the thief pulled Aramis close and punched him hard in the stomach with the free hand.

"Who are you calling 'Monsieur'?" the thief demanded, angrily. Aramis barely had time to recover from the dual shock of the unexpected attack and the fact that his assailant was a woman before she grabbed hold of him by the shoulders and shoved him to the ground.

She only managed to run a few paces before she ran bodily into Porthos. He barely even moved at the impact, but held her tightly, hardly reacting to her valiant struggles for freedom.

Aramis stood up slowly, holding onto his knees for a few moments as he recovered his breath. Finally he straightened his back and walked over to the thief, whose face and head were still covered. He grinned as he looked at the outline of her figure, and cleared his throat before speaking.

"I do like a woman with spirit," he said, his eyes gleaming as his lips pinched into a wry grin. Without another word, he pulled her hood back and the scarf from her face. Upon seeing each other, both Aramis and the thief let out a gasp of shock.

"Sophie?" he asked in disbelief. She nodded.

"René? Is it really you?" she asked. His eyes flitted quickly across her face as the smile on his face widened.

"I don't believe it," he murmured.

Had it been another Musketeer in Aramis' place, what happened next would have simply confounded Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan. However, it was Aramis, and the fact that he swept the woman into his arms and planted an enthusiastic kiss on her lips didn't even raise an eyebrow among them.

"I take it you are acquainted after all," Athos said, blinking once.

"Not necessarily," Porthos said, his eyes glinting mischievously as d'Artagnan giggled at his friend's joke. Aramis beamed at his friends.

"Gentlemen. I must apologise. Allow me to introduce you," he began.

What Aramis said next was so astonishing that even Athos' mouth dropped open in amazement.

"This is Sophie Boniface. My wife," he declared, squeezing her waist.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

The tavern was a lot less crowded than usual, and finding a secluded booth proved to be no trouble at all for the four friends and their new acquaintance.

Two carafes of wine magically appeared, and nobody sat at the table could help but wonder who was going to pay for the drinks this time. Porthos decided that it would be better to have already drunk the wine by the time the bill was to be paid than to give the tavern-owner a chance to take the wine back again, and so very kindly poured wine into everyone's cups.

d'Artagnan sat on one side of Sophie while Aramis sat on the other, and Porthos and Athos sat across the table from them. The three of them looked her over carefully when she had taken off her cloak. Sophie was wearing a faded blue footman's livery. It was slightly ill-fitting in obvious places but her general appearance was that of a boy around d'Artagnan's age. Her figure was neither slight nor plump, she was of a sturdy build and carried herself with an air of confidence that indicated she knew how to take care of herself in a fight. She had long, brown hair that was tied at the back with a black ribbon, and loose strands of hair kept falling onto her face and distracting her. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief and intelligence, and Athos couldn't help but notice that her gaze kept darting around the room. He wondered if she was trying to find an escape. He set his shoulders back slightly and tilted his chin up, not taking his eyes from her. He didn't know anything about her aside from her name, and that concerned him. Of course, Aramis appeared to trust her, but then Aramis had always been slightly more trusting of people, and especially women, than Athos himself was. Which, he reflected, wasn't particularly difficult.

Athos' silent misgivings were interrupted by Porthos shifting in his seat and almost knocking Athos' cup clean out of his hand.

"Your wife?" Porthos asked, looking pointedly at Aramis. "You kept that quiet."

"We all have our secrets, my friend," Aramis said, grinning widely at him. Porthos shot him a look that was somewhere between mild amusement and thinly veiled derision.

"I suppose we should clarify for them, really," Sophie said in her soft, husky voice, squeezing Aramis' arm. He nodded and smiled indulgently at her, then gestured for her to continue with her explanation. d'Artagnan and Athos exchanged a brief glance of concern but didn't interrupt. "We have been married twice. First we were married when we were six years old. Nobody else knew about it and it obviously wasn't a real wedding, but it was a beautiful ceremony under a cherry tree in the springtime, with blossom everywhere."

"Sweeping romantic gestures have always been my strongest suit," Aramis agreed, taking a very large swig of wine. Athos took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, but said nothing. "The second time we were seventeen and we were married against our parents' will by a rather unscrupulous cleric who took the little money we had saved in order to perform the ceremony. The following day, Sophie's father had the marriage annulled. It was a little late by then, of course, for a true annulment, but nevertheless the marriage was deemed to be no longer valid."

"Not long afterwards, René was sent away by his parents to train as a priest, and that was the last I saw of him until today," Sophie said, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. "Seventeen years ago. Good God." She picked up her full cup of wine and drained it in five gulps as though it were water. Athos looked at her in surprise, his eyes widening for a moment before he composed himself.

"All that running built up a thirst, did it?" Porthos asked, nodding towards her empty cup. She looked right at him, her chin tilted slightly upwards as a playful smirk threatened at the corners of her lips.

"Something like that," she said, raising her left eyebrow as she smiled impishly at him. Porthos replied with a wolfish grin and refilled her cup for her. "That's very kind of you, monsieur."

"Porthos," he corrected her. She beamed at him.

"It's a name I shan't forget," she promised.

"So... I'm sorry, none of this makes sense," d'Artagnan said, frowning. She turned to him and furrowed her brow slightly.

"Which part, boy? The part about us getting married, or the part... no, I'm afraid that's all I've really said so far," she answered. d'Artagnan looked awkwardly at the table for a moment before looking back at her.

"My name is d'Artagnan, madame. I am not a boy," he replied. She nodded.

"Very well, d'Artagnan Madame, what would you like me to explain to you?" she asked, her tone serious but her eyes twinkling. Aramis let out a small snort of laughter and the right side of Athos' mouth twitched into a smirk at her sharp-witted response.

"Why are you in Paris, and why are you dressed as a man?" d'Artagnan asked. "Why did you steal a loaf of bread and a lady's pendant?"

Athos, Porthos and Aramis all leaned in close to Sophie at this point, studying her reaction. They had all been wondering the same thing but weren't sure exactly how to ask it. Fortunately for them, their little Gascon friend always tended to favour the direct approach. She stared back at all of them, matching their curious looks of distrust.

"I stole the bread because I was starving, and I stole the pendant to buy some girls' clothes. I have been masquerading as a twenty-one year old boy for the last eight months. Let me tell you, mon petit chou, being a man is difficult, but it is a lot easier than being a woman who must hide her true nature," she said.

"Twenty-one?" Athos asked, doubtfully. Sophie looked at him and didn't answer for a few moments.

"You doubt me, monsieur?" she said, a note of indignation and hurt in her voice that Athos hadn't expected. "You think I could not pass myself off as a boy so young? You think that I am a liar, is that it?"

"Madame, not thirty minutes ago, my friend and I had apprehended you as a thief. I do not _know_ you," he said, his cold, piercing stare boring into her soul so deeply that she felt uncomfortable.

"Athos!" Aramis protested. Sophie held up her hand to stop him.

"No, he is right," she said. "Are you going to arrest me, Monsieur Athos?" she asked. Athos held her gaze for a few moments too long and finally looked away from her.

"As Aramis said, we would not begrudge you a meal," he answered. She nodded and stood up from the table.

"In that case, I will leave. I have business of my own to attend to," she said. "Excuse me, please," she muttered, nudging d'Artagnan's thigh with her knee to make him move out of her way.

"What business?" d'Artagnan asked. She looked at him sharply for a fraction of a second before her expression softened. Something about his young, hopeful face made her forget how angry she felt.

"My business, I'm afraid," she answered, smiling kindly at him. "I am truly sorry for the inconvenience I caused today," she called over her shoulder as she walked towards the door.

"Sophie!" Aramis shouted, rushing over to her and grabbing her arm. She looked at his hand and then looked up at him. His eyes flickered with guilt as he released his grasp on her. "Will I see you again?" he asked, gently. She smiled ruefully and shook her head.

"I would love that, but I cannot promise it," she answered, sadly. "I am so glad you're alive and safe. I've thought of you so often." Aramis pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead.

"May God keep you safe," he whispered, squeezing her shoulders lovingly. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders.

"I often pray for the same thing," she said. She bit her lip and paused for a moment. "I know that it must appear I am not the woman you expected me to become, but - but you should know that not everything is always as it seems," she finished. She took one last glance at d'Artagnan, Porthos and Athos who were sat watching them with interest, then she smiled and left the tavern.

"She seems... erm," d'Artagnan said, shifting along the bench to make room for Aramis as he returned to them. "Troubled?" he offered, trying to be tactful. Aramis shook his head, sadly.

"More than troubled, I think. Perhaps... perhaps frightened," he said, his tone distant and distracted. He took a swig of wine and took hold of the carafe to refill his cup. "We're out of wine," he muttered, glancing reproachfully at Athos. Athos met his gaze, a slight dullness in his eyes and smirk on his lips indicating exactly where the wine had disappeared to. "I wish we could have done something to help her."

"We did. We failed to arrest her," Athos pointed out.

"You didn't like her at all, did you?" Aramis asked, chuckling at his friend. Athos looked at the bottom of his empty cup for a moment before looking back up at Aramis.

"I don't know her. And neither do you, any more," he answered, seriously.

"I liked her," Porthos said. "She seemed like a fiesty one," Aramis laughed and nodded.

"She certainly used to be," he agreed. "Something is wrong, I can feel it. I just wish she could have told us more."

"Here," d'Artagnan offered, pushing a fresh carafe of wine down the table to Aramis. "This will help." Aramis looked at him and then at Athos.

"You've been around Athos for too long!" he teased, squeezing d'Artagnan's shoulder affectionately. He poured another cup of wine for himself and sat back, his brow furrowed in thought. "Something is wrong. I know Sophie."

A heavy silence descended upon the table as Aramis wallowed in memories he had thought were forever lost. Memories of climbing trees, learning to fence with wooden sticks in the courtyard of Sophie's house. Their childish wedding vows made in front of Sophie's favourite doll. Lying side by side on top of the hill, staring at the stars and pouring out their thirteen-year-old hearts to each other because they knew that nobody else would understand them. Making plans to run away together and start a new life. The first time he kissed her, against the outside kitchen wall, the feel of her soft lips on his skin, the way it hurt in the best possible way as she twisted strands of his hair around her fingers and pulled firmly as their kiss deepened. Their wedding night when they made love for the first time, how warm her body felt next to his and how even now he could remember every last moment of that night so vividly that his entire body tingled. How he truly never believed there would ever be a moment in his life without her by his side. The pain in his heart as his father manhandled him onto a coach and sent him to the seminary, knowing he would never see his Sophie again. Not many days went by in his life when he hadn't thought about her, wondered what she was doing, if she had married again, if she was with someone who would take care of her and allow her to be the woman he had loved instead of expecting her to become a brainless, spineless extension of her husband. He was just glad that she was still alive and still just as beautiful as he remembered - even if there was something troubling her. If only he had been able to speak to her for longer, he knew that she would have opened up to him.

While Porthos and d'Artagnan drank more wine and tried to think of a plausible way to either fool the owner of the tavern into believing they had already paid, or to create a substantial diversion to distract him from the fact they had now finished three carafes of wine and had no way of paying for any of it, Athos stared unashamedly at Aramis. Athos wasn't a harsh, unfeeling man. He tried to be, but he wasn't. He recognised the pain on his friend's face, the torment, the confusion, the flashbacks to happier times. It was all there, etched on Aramis' face. For a few moments, he thought of Sophie. While it was quite true that he didn't know her, that he couldn't trust her because he didn't know her, he reminded himself that he did know Aramis. Just because Aramis trusted more easily than Athos did, that didn't mean Aramis was gullible or a fool. He had a heart larger than France itself, and the honour and courage to match it. Athos had, on countless occasions, trusted Aramis with his very life - and Aramis had never given him a moment's reason to doubt him. Perhaps he had been too harsh on the woman. Perhaps he should stop judging all women based on his past experiences. Not all were like that. At least, he hoped they weren't.

"Aramis?" Athos said, jolting Aramis out of his reverie. Aramis looked up at him forlornly. "We need to go. Treville is expecting us." It was a lie, of course. Monsieur de Treville wasn't expecting them at all. Athos just knew that if he was left to drown his sorrows, Aramis would go to the same dark place that Athos himself went to in these moments of anguish, and he would do anything to spare Aramis that level of heartache. The only distraction he knew was to keep him busy.

"He is?" Aramis asked, distantly. Porthos looked up at Athos and frowned.

"He is?" he repeated, confused. Athos shot him a look which needed no translation.

"Yes. Come. We'll be late," he said, putting his hat back on his head and making his way to the door. All four men were stopped in their tracks by a piercing scream. Aramis' face dropped.

"Sophie," he murmured, pushing Porthos and Athos out of his way as he raced outside. Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan could do no more than follow him, almost dreading what they would find when they got outside.

Sophie's cries came from the alley at the side of the tavern, where she was embroiled in a fight with three large men. Aramis skidded to a halt at the mouth of the alleyway and roared an oath at them to distract them. As they turned around, Sophie managed to punch one in the jaw so hard that she knocked him out cold. Another of her attackers grabbed her by her hair, pulling some out from her scalp and hurting her neck in the process. Punching her in the stomach with all his might, she let out a sickening groan as she involuntarily vomited onto the man's shoes. In his disgust, he picked her up bodily and threw her down the alleyway as though she were nothing more than a rag doll. The force of impact on the cobbled pavement immediately knocked her unconscious. As Athos was nearest to Sophie, he instinctively raced to her side to tend to her.

"You cowards! You want to fight a man, fight me!" Aramis yelled, storming over to them. He felt d'Artagnan's presence at his right shoulder, shortly followed by Porthos at his right.

"You fight one of us, you fight all of us!" d'Artagnan shouted. Porthos said nothing but drew himself to his full height and growled through his menacing grin.

"That boy owed us money! Cheated at cards!" the man who had punched Sophie said.

"Cheated at cards, Aramis. Tut tut tut. That's a nasty trick," Porthos said, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"Oh, well, if she cheated at cards, that's different," Aramis said, letting out a breath of laughter as he playfully clapped Porthos on the shoulder. His expression quickly changed to one of seething rage as he continued advancing towards the men with Porthos and d'Artagnan by his side.

"She?" the man repeated. Porthos nodded, cracking his knuckles as he clenched his fists.

"Hitting a woman, Porthos. That's a nasty trick too," Aramis said, grimly, not taking his eyes off the man responsible for Sophie's injuries.

"Porthos? Aramis?" the other man said, his voice suddenly seized with terror. "Not Porthos of The Musketeers?" he asked. Porthos grinned widely at him and nodded.

Before Porthos, Aramis or d'Artagnan had chance to raise a finger, the men let out a cry of terror and ran away. Aramis and Porthos looked at each other and shrugged.

"That was an anti-climax," Aramis said, blandly.

"I hate those," Porthos agreed, before letting out a dirty chuckle. Aramis let out a snort of laughter and turned back towards Sophie.

Sophie's head was in Athos' lap, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Athos stroked her hair with one hand and gently tapped her cheek with the other to bring her round.

"Sophie? Sophie, it's Athos. Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice unusually kind and gentle. Sophie's eyes eventually flickered open, and with great effort she reached out a hand and grasped hold of Athos' jacket.

"Take me to Her Majesty," she whispered.

"The Queen?" Athos said. Aramis crouched beside Athos and looked questioningly at him. "Why to the Queen?" he asked, frowning. Sophie tugged desperately at his jacket and his face filled with concern. "What is it?"

"Tell her," she gasped, with great effort. "The Blue Falcon." Athos' frown deepened.

"The Blue Falcon?" he repeated. She nodded.

"He is here," she murmured. Athos and Aramis exchanged a concerned glance.

"Who is he, Sophie?" Aramis asked, taking Sophie's hand and squeezing it affectionately.

It was too late. Sophie had slipped back into unconsciousness. Aramis realised that if they were to save her, they needed help - and they needed it quickly.


	3. Chapter Two

_**A/N: **I'd just like to apologise for the length of time it has taken to update. I've had internet-related issues, namely being completely without internet for over a week and then RL went and did a real number on me. Still, it is done now and I promise that I won't take so long to update the next chapter!_

**Chapter Two**

"Forgive me, I didn't realise that the word 'hospital' was written above my husband's door!"

Constance Bonacieux rested her hands on her hips and looked sternly at the men in front of her. As if she didn't have enough to do without those four rogues at her door wanting help every five minutes. It was like having three more brothers to take care of - and she still hadn't quite figured out how to accurately categorise d'Artagnan's place in her heart. Or at least, she still wasn't quite brave enough to do so. Not aloud, anyway.

"I didn't know what else to do. She needs help and I know how good you are at helping people," d'Artagnan said, looking down at her with wide, puppy-dog eyes. Constance pouted slightly. It wasn't fair that he looked at her like that, he knew that it instantly made her forget how annoyed she was with him.

"You know how much of a fool I am, you mean!" she said, turning her back on him.

Constance now turned her attention to Sophie, who was barely conscious and held easily in Porthos' big, strong arms. There was no danger of him dropping her, Aramis would never have entrusted Sophie to anyone else. Porthos had carried heavier weights than Sophie during battle, but since the moment he picked her up, his entire demeanour changed, as though Aramis had entrusted him with the entire riches of France. As a result, and although she didn't know it at the time, Sophie could not have been in a safer place than in Porthos' arms. Constance couldn't help but notice how upset Aramis was and how fiercely Athos was staring at the floor.

"What happened to her?" she asked, her eyes full of concern.

"She was attacked by three men," Athos said. Constance's eyes widened.

"Then for heaven's sake, get the poor woman into bed! She's been through enough. Bring her in here, Porthos!" she called over her shoulder as she made her way into her own bedroom. "My husband is away on business, she'll stay here until she's better."

"She can't stay here for long. She has a message for Her Majesty," Athos said.

"I don't care if she's got a message for the Pope from God himself! She's staying here until she's better," Constance insisted. Athos looked a little surprised at Constance's outburst, but said nothing. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Her name is Sophie," Aramis said, his eyes glossy with tears and his voice cracking slightly with emotion. Constance stared at him, expectantly. "She's an old friend." Constance folded her arms and raised her left eyebrow.

"I'm sure she is," she said, dryly.

Porthos laid Sophie gently onto the bed and made sure her head was well supported with pillows before stretching her arms and legs out to make her comfortable. He took two steps back and squeezed Aramis' arm comfortingly. Aramis looked up at him and forced a rueful smile, which was the best he could muster. Constance sighed and shook her head.

"I promise she'll be all right. I'll take care of her," she said, stroking Aramis' arm. He nodded, unable to take his gaze away from Sophie. "She needs rest, that's the best medicine for her right now. I'll clean her up and get her into some more appropriate clothes," she said, running the fabric of Sophie's jacket between her thumb and first two fingers. "Does anyone know why she's dressed as a boy?"

"She didn't say," d'Artagnan said. "We assume it's something to do with the message she has for Her Majesty."

"So she's a spy?" Constance asked.

"We don't know," Aramis said, shrugging helplessly. "She... left our company as quickly as she entered it," he explained, casting a meaningful glance at Athos, who stared back at him unflinchingly.

"What did you do?" Constance said, turning to Athos. He looked back at her.

"The woman has message for the Queen. Her Majesty's life could very well depend upon it," he answered.

Constance was used to Athos' complete avoidance of subjects he had no intention of discussing, but this time was different. A woman had been attacked and needed help, and rather than show any degree of concern for her, Athos acted as though she was a complete inconvenience, no matter how much his behaviour visibly upset Aramis. His actions were wholly unlike him. He would do anything for his friends, but he would never purposely act in a way that would hurt any of them. The fact that he couldn't even bring himself to look at Sophie lying on the bed, her breathing shallow, bruising appearing on her face before their very eyes, dried blood caked around her mouth, puzzled Constance. Athos had seen people in worse states than this before, she knew that. He was a soldier. He had seen men die. Friends. Brothers. He was not squeamish in any way. It wasn't as though he had beaten Sophie himself, he would never treat a woman in that way. His reaction was altogether bewildering.

"This poor woman," she said, pointing at Sophie, "is not leaving this house until she is fit and well. If you are so concerned about the message, then I suggest that you deliver it yourself." Athos looked at her, his lips pinched into something resembling a scowl.

"We can't just walk into the palace and demand to see the Queen!" d'Artagnan protested. Aramis frowned at the floor, deep in thought for a few moments, before looking up at Porthos.

"There must be a way," he said, hopefully.

"Can you think of anything?" Porthos asked. Aramis paused for a moment, took the cross that the Queen had given to him and kissed it jubilantly.

"She did say it would keep me safe, didn't she?"

"Was this before or after The Stare?" Porthos asked. Aramis grinned and winked at Porthos but didn't answer.

"Let me get this straight," d'Artagnan said, holding one hand up and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger of his other hand. "You're going to charm your way in to see Her Majesty?" Aramis clamped his hand on d'Artagnan's arm.

"Each man must play to his own strengths. Can I help it if mine is charm?" he asked with a smile.

"It certainly isn't modesty," Constance muttered, just loud enough for them to hear. Porthos let out a loud and hearty laugh at her retort while Aramis held up his hands in defeat, smiling wryly. His facial expression dropped as he walked over to Constance and took hold of each of her hands gently.

"Promise me you won't let any harm come to Sophie?" he asked, seriously. Constance looked back into his eyes and could see the distress in his expression. She nodded.

"I'll stay with her every minute," she promised. Athos cleared his throat before joining in the conversation.

"I'll stay," he decided. Aramis turned and looked at him in vague disbelief. "If someone is intent for her to not make it to the Queen, then there is a chance we may have been followed. It would be unwise for us to leave Madame Bonacieux and the mademoiselle alone," he said. Aramis frowned at him doubtfully and Athos lowered his head slightly as he looked directly into Aramis' eyes. "She will be safe," he promised, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he gently placed his hand on Aramis' arm. Aramis paused and nodded. He turned to Constance and tipped his hat, then without any further ceremony, he left with d'Artagnan and Porthos.

Athos sat at the kitchen table, staring solidly at a knot in the wood, while Constance prepared a bowl of water and a damp cloth.

"I can take care of myself, you know," she said, breaking the tense silence.

"Was that ever in doubt?" Athos asked, not moving his head but looking up at her.

"You don't have to stay."

There was a pause while Athos carefully considered his response. "Yes I do."

His tone was low and even, yet something in his manner told Constance not to argue with him. She set the bowl of water down on the table and reached a hand across to touch Athos' hand.

"It isn't your fault," she said, her voice soft and kind. Athos didn't answer but lowered his head to indicate the end of the conversation.

Without pushing for further dialogue, which she knew would have been pointless to even attempt, Constance went into the bedroom and began to tend to Sophie's wounds. When the lukewarm water came into contact with Sophie's wrists, she murmured faintly and, as Constance patted the cloth on her forehead, she opened her eyes.

"Hello, there. You certainly had us worried," Constance told her, smiling kindly. Sophie frowned and swallowed.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"My name is Constance. Aramis and his friends brought you here to my husband's house where you'll be safe."

"Where is he?"

"He's gone to the palace to deliver your message."

"Message?"

"Apparently you had a message for the Queen."

"Yes. I do. I should go," Sophie decided, forcing herself to sit up. Constance put her hand on Sophie's shoulder.

"No. You should rest," she answered, kindly but firmly. "You need food, sleep and some proper clothes. Although if you hadn't had such tight binding around you, I'm afraid you would have been in an even worse state than you are now," she added. Sophie looked down and saw that her jacket and shirt had been removed so that Constance could clean her wounds, but that the binding around her chest was still intact.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Constance said, smiling at Sophie. She quietly continued cleaning Sophie's wounds as Sophie started to fall asleep again. "I think you worried Athos," she said, in a low voice. Sophie's eyes snapped open.

"Athos?" she repeated, her cheeks flushing slightly at the mention of his name. She didn't know why Athos' reaction or opinion mattered to her. After all, he had been nothing but rude to her, from the way he looked at her to the way he spoke to her. Yet when he had looked at her, something in his eyes had burned deep into her soul, which had caught her completely off-guard, momentarily taking her breath away and making her heart beat a little faster. She couldn't help but hope she would see him again, and perhaps those eyes would gaze deeply into her soul once more.

"He isn't as... _Athos_... as he seems," Constance finally answered. She had used his name as an adjective for years. There was never really anything more appropriate to describe his surly, arrogant, cold and cynical outer shell. The man underneath had a gentle heart and a fierce loyalty, she knew that. That side of him wasn't hidden too deeply, but it was a side that strangers rarely saw of him.

"He is with Aramis?" she asked. Constance shook her head.

"No. He's in the kitchen. He offered to stay behind in case we needed protection."

"I don't need protection."

"Neither do I. He knows that. But I know that if Athos is here, nothing bad will happen. You need to know that too, because you need to concentrate on getting better, not worrying about those people finding you again," Constance said. Sophie nodded and closed her eyes again before drifting back to sleep. Constance smiled softly to herself as she left the room.

Athos sat at the table, still staring solidly at the knot in the wood. He should not have been so brusque with Sophie. If he had been more pleasant, if he had tried to be less protective of Aramis, perhaps she would have stayed with them a little longer. Maybe only another five minutes, but long enough to avoid those men altogether. Long enough so that she would have made it safely to the Queen with her message. As a result of his behaviour, Aramis was worried sick, his three friends had had to go to the palace themselves to try and get an impromptu audience with the Queen - and Sophie was lying in Constance's bed, lucky to be alive.

Constance had said that it wasn't his fault, but how could he believe her? How could that be true? She wasn't there, she didn't know, she didn't understand how he had acted. It was inexcusable, it was rude, it was not the way he had been brought up to treat people. He had accused her of being a thief and a liar and had entirely forgotten that he was a gentleman in his haste to presume the worst of her.

She had been loved by Aramis, and clearly Aramis still felt a great deal of affection towards her. Aramis had a reputation for being a great lover of women, and that this was often misconstrued for him viewing women as little more than bedfellows and serving-wenches. However, Athos knew that in truth, Aramis was a genial, compassionate, kind-hearted soul who simply understood and enjoyed the company of women. As the woman who held such a singular place in Aramis' heart, Sophie must have been the one who had helped to shape his views on the entire sex. By comparison, Athos' views on women had been largely shaped by his own wife, Anne. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stop thinking of her almost as soon as he had started. It was too early in the day and he was too sober to deal with her memory.

There was something about Sophie that he had admired. The fire in her eyes, her stubbornness. The way her chin tilted in defiance when she spoke. There was something else, too. He could not quite define what it was. There was an easy gentleness about her, she had her own unique charm. Her eyes sparkled with life and she seemed to care little about what other people thought of her. The way his stomach churned as he saw her battered and broken body on the cobbled street as though she was a discarded toy.

He recognised the feelings that were coming up into his heart and he shook his head vigorously, as if that action would literally shake his thoughts out of his ears. He could ill afford feelings of that nature. The Queen's life was potentially in danger. Sophie herself still had a job to do to protect the Queen, as did he. The last thing he needed was to complicate matters by allowing his heart to rule his head. He had learned from experience how badly emotions tended to get in the way of duty.

"I've never known anyone find our kitchen table so fascinating," Constance said, breaking the heavy silence as she walked into the room. Athos looked up at her.

"How is Sophie?" he asked. It had been the first time he had called Sophie by her name since they had rescued her and, to his abject dismay, he found that he liked the way her name felt on his tongue.

"She's asleep now. But she'll be fine. She just needs rest."

Athos nodded and looked back down at the table.

"I acted out of turn," he said. Constance pursed her lips for a few moments, unsure of what to say.

"I wonder how Aramis and the others are faring?" she asked, deciding that the best course of action would be to follow Athos' example and change the subject. The right side of Athos' mouth twitched into a smirk.

"Doubtless, they will be getting into far more trouble than they need to," he said, his eyes twinkling as he imagined their escapades. Constance couldn't help but chuckle at her own imagination of the scene.

Of course, neither of them had any way of knowing that Athos' prediction could not possibly have been more accurate.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"You've had some stupid ideas in the past, Aramis - but this! This is your worst idea yet!" Porthos said, rubbing his gloved hand over his face in despair. They had entered the palace grounds and were walking towards the guard station. Aramis was clutching the cross that the Queen had given to him tightly in his left hand and rubbed his thumb over one of the beads on the chain. "It'll never work! It's too simple!"

"It will work, trust me."

"You cannot just go up to the guards and ask for an audience with the Queen," d'Artagnan said, shaking his head. Aramis raised both his eyebrows slightly as he shrugged.

"I can always try," he said.

"We could go to Treville and ask him to arrange it," Porthos said. Aramis rolled his eyes.

"We may not have time to wait for that. What if this Blue Falcon is an assassin? Should we wait for protocol and risk the Queen's life?" he demanded, grabbing Porthos by his jacket and pulling him closer, a slight tinge of panic in his voice and eyes. Porthos returned Aramis' hard stare for a few moments before faltering.

"We'll wait for you. We'll be in one of the nearby corridors. Shout if you need us," he said, pulling away and clamping his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Like what?" Aramis asked, innocently. Porthos tilted his chin slightly downward as he looked at Aramis.

"Like what!" he repeated, scornfully.

Porthos sometimes wished that he didn't know Aramis as well as he did. Aramis would never admit aloud to having any opinion about the Queen save for his acknowledgement of her beauty - and as Aramis was one of those rare men who could naturally see the beauty in all women, his words could have been taken as a statement of fact rather than an opinion. Porthos knew that France came first for all of them, and that it was their bounden duty to protect the Royal couple from any and all danger. Aramis was doing his job, of course he was. That would be how Aramis would justify his actions, even to himself. Porthos knew, though, that Aramis was going beyond the call of duty because of how he personally felt about the Queen. He felt a small twinge of sadness deep in his heart that Aramis' feelings amounted to nothing more than a desire never to be fulfilled.

If it had been any other Musketeer in the regiment, Porthos would have told him to stop being so ridiculous and wait for official confirmation of an arranged appointment with the Queen. Another hour or two out of their lives probably wouldn't affect the Queen's safety at all. But no, it was Aramis - one of the closest, most loving and loved friends that Porthos had ever made, and he would have gladly indulged Aramis in any scheme he came up with because, knowing Aramis, the more hare-brained and silly the idea, the more likely it was to work out absolutely perfectly.

Aramis took off his hat and clasped it to his chest before walking away from the two friends. d'Artagnan looked up at Porthos.

"Will it work?" he asked. Porthos shrugged.

"If anyone can make it work, it's Aramis," he said.

"I don't see how. They won't just let a Musketeer in without an appointment or a summons. Especially not to see the Queen. What would the King say?" d'Artagnan asked, shaking his head.

"Don't underestimate Aramis," Porthos said, watching Aramis stride confidently towards the guards. "If anyone can make a direct approach look subtle, it's him."

They followed Aramis at a safe distance and, once Aramis had been granted access past the main guards and into the Queen's chambers, they waited quietly in the adjacent corridor. Their view of the guards outside the Queen's room was a little obscured by a pillar, but they decided that as they couldn't see the guards, there was little chance of the guards seeing them, and therefore their position was a prime one.

Aramis straightened his shoulders, tilted his chin upwards confidently and marched up to the guards on duty outside the Queen's room. The guards narrowed their eyes suspiciously at him. They had known of Aramis and his reputation and quietly supposed that he had come to woo one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting.

"It's a bit early for the likes of you, isn't it?" one of the guards asked. Aramis frowned slightly in confusion.

"I have apprehended a thief who had taken something belonging to Her Majesty," he answered. The guard shrugged.

"What do you want, a round of applause?" he asked. Aramis smiled indulgently at the guard's poor attempt at humour.

"I would much like to return the item to Her Majesty myself. As I have taken such great pains to retrieve the item, I would like to be sure that she does, in fact, receive it," Aramis said. He held out in front of him the cross that the Queen had given to him. The guard took it from him, looked over the item and nodded.

"It is certainly the property of the Queen," the guard said. He put the item in his pocket and chuckled sardonically. "You leave it with me."

"Oh I couldn't do that," Aramis said, raising his left eyebrow. "How am I to know it will ever leave your pocket?" he asked, fixing a smile to his face as his eyes hardened.

"You distrust me, monsieur?" the guard asked, feigning offence. Aramis didn't let his smile slip.

"I suggest you take it to her immediately, before I have cause to give your name to Captain Treville who, I am sure, would be more than happy to pass on to the King himself. There is definitely a law against stealing from the Queen, and I don't think His Majesty would view the matter lightly, do you?" he asked. The guard's expression dropped and he coughed awkwardly before swallowing.

"Just a little joke," he answered, visibly embarrassed. "No need to bring His Majesty into it."

The guard opened the door to the chamber and Aramis waited. He exchanged a smile and a nod with the other guard on duty and an embarrassed silence filled the air. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the guard returned, looking puzzled.

"The Queen seems to know who you are. She wants to thank you personally. You may go in," he said, quite baffled by the Queen's eager insistence on seeing Aramis. Aramis smiled, bowed his head slightly and walked through the door.

In the centre of the room stood Queen Anne. She was small, dwarfed by her enormous dress. It looked heavy and cumbersome and she did not look at all comfortable in it, no matter how resplendent her countenance seemed to be. Aramis bowed low to her and, after a pause, ventured to look up at her. She held the cross by its chain and the sunlight pouring through the window reflected off the gold, almost as dazzling as the Queen herself.

"Aramis," Anne said, a smile taking over her entire face almost without her knowledge. "Only among the bravest of all the King's Musketeers," she added, her eyes glinting impishly. Aramis briefly glanced away from her, blushing slightly before returning her gaze.

"Your Majesty, please forgive my impudence and the subterfuge in coming to see you. It is, I am afraid, an emergency," he said, straightening up but not breaking eye contact with her. She shook her head.

"There is nothing to forgive," she answered, softly. "Do you have a request of your Queen? Is there anything you desire that I might grant to you?" she asked, walking towards him and standing unashamedly in his personal space. She took hold of his hand and pressed the cross into his palm.

Aramis looked deeply into her eyes and, for a moment, forgot all that had previously been on his mind. He forgot about the Blue Falcon. He forgot about saving Anne's life. He forgot that he was just a Musketeer and that Anne was a queen and for a beautiful moment imagined how it would feel if he could take her into his arms and press her body into his as he kissed her, how her arms would feel around his neck, running her fingers through his hair, the soft, sweet murmurs of pleasure she would utter as he would run his lips gently down her throat.

His mind had wandered a little too far when reality struck him and he took a step back from her.

"If it would please Your Majesty to grant me five minutes' conference with her. I have urgent news that may present a danger to the Queen's very life," he answered. Anne's eyes widened in surprise.

"My life?"

"I have a message from Sophie Boniface," he said. Anne frowned slightly.

"From Sophie?" she asked. "She is one of my most trusted agents. Why is she not here to deliver the message herself? How do you know her?"

"Sophie is my oldest friend."

"Friend?" she repeated. "Just your friend?" she asked, almost embarrassed of the question. Aramis pursed his lips slightly and shook his head.

"She was my wife. A long time ago, another lifetime. We were very young and very foolish. We had not seen each other for many years and only met by chance earlier today. She was wounded badly in trying to deliver her message to Your Majesty," he said. Anne covered her nose and mouth with her hand, her eyes widening with concern.

"Sophie is hurt? Where is she now?" Anne asked. "You must be worried about her."

"Sophie is a brave, strong woman. I know she is being well taken care of. My main concern at this moment is Your Majesty."

"Me? Why?"

"I am a servant of France, and of the King. By extension my duty is to protect your life," Aramis said, feeling his cheeks starting to burn. Anne pressed her lips together into a thin smile.

"I see. Is that... is 'duty' your only reason, Aramis?" she asked, hopefully.

"There is no woman on this earth that I would sooner lay down my life for than Your Majesty," he answered, seriously. Anne's eyes lit up with joy. "All my brothers in the Musketeer regiment would answer with the same words. Duty is the only reason we need to serve you," he added. Anne's smile faded. Aramis clamped his lips together for a moment, horrified that he may have hurt her by giving her a less than honest answer. "Your Majesty must realise that she should be the most important thing in the King's life. I know that, were I a married man, my wife would be the very reason that I breathed air. It is only natural that the King should feel that way too." Anne raised her eyebrows briefly.

"Should?" she repeated, before letting out a breath of laughter and nodding. "Perhaps he should. If he does, then I am indeed the most fortunate woman in all of France, having such loyal men to protect me," she answered. They looked at each other silently for a few moments, neither of them sure what to say next. Eventually, Anne felt self-conscious and swallowed hard before speaking. "What was the message that Sophie gave to you?"

"She said that the Blue Falcon is here."

Anne's face fell, the colour drained from her cheeks and her hands flew to her mouth to catch the shriek of terror that fell from her lips. Without any further warning, she started tugging at her own clothes, ripping off her collar, pulling at her sleeves. Aramis genuinely had no idea what to do, he didn't know whether he should reassure her or stop her from whatever she was trying to do, and knowing that if he touched her without permission the penalties would be too great for him to think about.

"Help!" he finally called out, having no other alternative available to himself.

"Help me!" she cried. "Nicole!"

A small, red-haired woman, of a very similar build to Anne, scurried in to the Queen's private room, looking horrified. "Your Majesty!"

"Nicole, undress me, quickly. We must change clothes at once," she said. Nicole frowned in confusion but obediently began to undress. Aramis screwed his eyes shut and turned his face down so that even if he did open his eyes he would only see the floor. "You may turn your back, Aramis," Anne said. Aramis nodded and turned around as garments rustled behind him.

"May I ask what is going on?" he finally ventured.

"You need to get me out of here. You need to get me out of here right now. I am not safe here," she said. "Nicole, please fetch me an old cloak. Not mine, I will be recognised." With a mutter of obedience, Aramis heard Nicole run out of the room.

"But Your Majesty, we are in the Palace. You are surrounded by guards. How much safer could you possibly be?" Aramis asked.

"That's the problem, I am not safe here. I am not safe in any place I would normally be found. Please no longer address me as Your Majesty. I am Anne. Just simple, plain, Anne," she said, firmly.

"Your Majesty-"

"ANNE!" she shouted, her voice strained with panic. Aramis sighed slightly and nodded.

"Anne. You are neither simple nor plain," he said.

For a moment she stopped dressing and fussing over her clothes to stare at Aramis. Even though his back was turned to her - in fact, especially because his back was turned to her. Nobody had ever spoken so honestly and with such little self-consciousness to her before. She took a moment to note the curve of his back, of the way his hair curled around his collar, of how broad his shoulders were and how those arms had once so fearlessly and gently protected her in a previous attempt on her own life. She remembered how often, alone in her bed at night, she had remembered how warm and safe she felt in his arms. Although anything could have happened to her, although they both could have died in the gunfight, it was as though time had stood still and her entire world had only consisted of Aramis' eyes and her only sensation was the way he had so gently cradled her head as he had held her close to him for those few moments. She would have never dared admit it to another living soul, but she had often prayed that Aramis would be sent to guard her again one day, so that perhaps she would feel content and protected in his arms once more. She trusted few people in her life, but the one man she knew would keep her safe her against all odds was Aramis.

"Help me, Aramis. Please," she said, her voice small and a little frightened.

Aramis ventured to turn around, doing so cautiously and slowly so that the Queen could stop him if she was still in a state of undress. As he turned around he saw her in a very different dress to the one she had been wearing. A much simpler dress. Still a fine one, but one that would be worn by a lady-in-waiting rather than by the Queen herself. "This will at least get me out of the Palace unnoticed," she explained. He nodded slowly.

"What of the King?" he asked. Anne closed her eyes.

"We will send word to the King of my safety," she said, nodding. "He will understand. But we may not have much time. I need to leave and I need to leave now. Do you know of a safe place?"

"We can go to to the place where Sophie is recovering. Then we can plan where to go from there," Aramis said with a decisive nod. Anne nodded her agreement.

Nicole soon returned with the cloak and draped it around Anne's shoulders.

"What am I to tell the King?" Nicole asked. Anne frowned as she considered her response.

"Tell him I will be safe now."

Aramis stared at Anne. Even though she was now dressed as a servant girl, she still carried herself with royal dignity. She could have dressed in sackcloth and still been the most beautiful woman in all of France.

"Are you ready, Your- Anne?" he asked, correcting himself at the last moment. Anne smiled. She liked the way her name sounded on his lips.

Before she could answer, the door burst open and a shot was fired. Anne and Nicole both screamed in terror and instinctively, Aramis grabbed hold of Anne's shoulder and pushed her to the floor. A masked man was stood before him, a manic bloodlust in his eyes that Aramis had only seen in a man twice before. There was no time to question him or to even think, and as his opponent's pistol was now spent, Aramis drew his sword. Glancing for a moment out of the door he saw that the guards that had been stationed outside the room were both crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

"PORTHOS!" he yelled, hoping beyond hope that his voice would carry far enough so that Porthos would hear him.

The resulting fight between Aramis and the masked man was not a protracted one but was nevertheless a violent one. Swords clattered, elbows were lunged into faces, and Aramis couldn't help but cry out in pain as his opponent's sword sliced through his sleeve, cutting his left arm quite deeply. Just as Porthos and d'Artagnan arrived in the room, Aramis lunged his sword deep into the chest of his opponent and watched him fall to the floor, the bloodlust and all other emotions now drained forever from his eyes. Anne let out a frightened gasp of horror and Nicole fainted clean away.

"What the hell happened here?" Porthos asked, looking at the carnage. Aramis shook his head and Porthos strode quickly over to Nicole, gently tapping her cheek to revive her. "You're safe, mademoiselle," he said, smiling kindly at her. She opened her eyes and looked up at Porthos. Nodding dumbly, she allowed herself to be helped up by him. "Are you all right?" he asked, nodding towards Aramis' bleeding arm.

"There's no time to check, we need to get the Queen out of here," he said, clutching his arm to quell the flow of blood. d'Artagnan's eyes widened.

"Are you sure that's a good ideal?" he asked.

"Aramis acts under my own order," Anne said, visibly shaking as she found herself unable to draw her eyes away from the dead man on the floor in front of her. d'Artagnan nodded his apologies and bowed to the Queen. He bent down to the body of the dead man and removed his mask.

"Is this the Blue Falcon?" he asked. Anne shook her head. "Then he has accomplices," d'Artagnan realised. Two tears slowly trickled down Anne's face as she stared at the dead man's face. Aramis, forgetting protocol in favour of his overwhelming sense of pity for Anne, gently wrapped his uninjured arm around her shoulders and held her close to him, being careful to not get any of his blood on her clothes.

"Whoever he is, he will answer to God now," he said, softly, crossing himself and saying a brief, silent prayer to God for the man's soul. "Come on. You need to be brave for just a little longer, and then you will be safe. I won't let any harm come to you."

Anne looked into his eyes and knew that Aramis spoke the truth. With shaking fingers, she pulled the hood of the cloak over her head and allowed herself to be escorted out of the Palace. They were neither seen nor stopped, which Aramis could only attribute to a miracle.

d'Artagnan and Porthos exchanged a brief glance as they walked a few steps ahead of Anne and Aramis.

"What have we got ourselves into?" d'Artagnan asked. Porthos shook his head.

"It's not what we've got ourselves into. It's how we're going to get out of it, that's the problem!" he answered.


End file.
